Blood and Roses
by ThisLittleDeath
Summary: 'Come now, Peeta, You're being terribly rude,' Pres Snow's voice cut, soft and deadly, through the silence. 'Believe me, you WANT to give me what I want.' Set after Catching Fire. Rated M for violence and torture.
1. Out of Oblivion

**A/N: I don't own Hunger Games or any of the characters contained therein.**

**That being said, story takes place after Catching Fire. First chapter is rather self-explanatory.  
**

**Please Review~ **

**~TLD  
**

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**Chapter One: Out of Oblivion**

_Katniss!_

He screamed, running blindly toward the sound of Katniss' impassioned cry. _Peeta!_ She'd screamed. _Peeta, I'm here!_ She'd screamed his name. She'd called to him, screamed for him to find her.

And given away her location to the enemy.

Peeta ran toward the sound of her voice, screaming her name. His already sluggish leg felt like a lead weight, dragging him down into the underbrush of the fake, engineered jungle. He ignored the whipping branches and vines slicing into his flesh and the sound of his heart hammering in his chest. His lungs ached as panicked breaths huffed out of his heaving chest like agonized gasps. _No!_ his thoughts shouted over the din of his exertion and fear. But it was too late.

Even as the world exploded in an eruption of sound and light, he knew he was too late. And just as he had that fateful night, Peeta succumbed again to the blackness. Collapsing into the wet ferns, he saw her as his vision failed, his fierce but beautiful hunter, her eyes scolding him for his weakness and yet somehow still sparkling with that loving concern she so often tried to hide from him.

Peeta thrashed in the violence of his nightmare, the black shroud of unconscious smothering him in his own horrific reminiscences.

"Katniss!" he screamed, finally breaking free of the painful weight of unconsciousness.

His eyes opened with a start.

First, relief. _It was just a dream_. But then, _Where am I?_

Peeta's eyes slowly adjusted to the low light, revealing industrial-looking light fixtures on blank, austere walls. _Walls?_ Peeta's mind stretched back, and he swallowed hard. _Not a dream, then. _He took a breath to try and still his panic. _The Capitol must have picked us up then._ Still lying on his back, he turned his head as far as he could, stretching his sight to the farthest corners of the room, looking for her.

_Katniss…_ he thought. He knew the Capitol wanted them dead. He knew they'd stop at nothing to make sure he and Katniss wouldn't make it out alive. But this? Blowing up the arena to pull them out and execute them? THAT he hadn't expected. But what else could this be?

He was alone in the room. So if Katniss was here, they must have her somewhere else. He sighed in mock annoyance, _Katniss, really did you have to make it __**this**__ difficult for me to keep you alive?_ He _almost_ smiled. But then he took a deep, cleansing breath, mustering his courage. _It's time_, he thought. Time to get up, find Katniss and get her out alive – or die trying.

Peeta shifted his weight, tensing his arms to lift him from his reclining position, but the motion was stilted, and with a quick intake of breath, Peeta saw why – His hands were secured to the table with heavy metal cuffs. Lifting himself up on his elbows, Peeta surveyed his bonds.

Metal cuffs at his wrists, a heavy metal band at his hips, and… his leg! Peeta's eyes closed rapidly, and he grit his teeth against the urge to cry out. Though it'd been months and months since he lost his leg, he had still not gotten used to seeing the stump that was left in its place. Even the sight of the metal prosthetic had become a comfort to him. But even that was gone.

_Apparently they don't want me wandering around_, he thought wryly. He twitched his good leg in the cuff around his ankle. The bite of the metal into his flesh was strangely comforting.

_Damn_, he thought, and he collapsed back onto the table, his head hitting the hard surface with a thud.

The noise wasn't particularly loud to Peeta's ears, but in the silence that followed it, the tiny clicking of the room's door unlocking seemed deafening. Peeta drew a thin breath, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, begging his body not to betray his fear. He felt a presence in the doorway, staring at him for a long moment before beginning a slow, languid walk to his bedside, heavy footfalls echoing throughout the room.

He exhaled in a long breath as the footfalls stopped. He kept his eyes locked on the ceiling, refusing to look at the figuring looming over his bedside. The scent of antiseptic burned his nose.

"Welcome back, Peeta," a cold, dangerous voice murmured above his head.

And there it was. With the speaker's breathy words, Peeta was struck with the scent of roses… and blood. Voice recognition aside, Peeta would never forget the sickening scent that clung to President Snow.

He locked his jaw, refusing to speak with this madman who may or may not have already killed – he stopped the thought in its tracks. But he couldn't keep the fury behind it out of his eyes.

President Snow clicked his tongue impatiently.

"Come now, Peeta," he chided coldly, "You're being terribly rude."

Peeta hardened his expression, refusing to be goaded into speech.

"Ah," he sighed, laying his hand on the exposed flesh of Peeta's arm. Peeta tried to suppress a shudder. "I can see we're going to have do this the hard way, then," he sighed as if disappointed.

"Believe me, Peeta," he continued, and his voice grew dark and menacing, "you _want_ to give me what I want." He paused, waiting. "Peeta, I will ask you this once. I urge you to tell me willingly, because if you do not, the next time we speak, you will be _begging_ to tell me every insignificant detail of your short, miserable life."

Peeta shivered at the manically sinister tone of the President's voice, marveling at how such a soft, cold voice could seem to flay the skin right off him. He blinked, steadying himself.

"Where are your co-conspirators hiding? Where is Katniss?" The President's voice was deceptively calm but Peeta could hear the barely concealed rage festering beneath the façade.

Peeta's breath caught. He struggled to keep his face blank, but inside his thoughts were joyous. _Katniss is safe!_

His joy must have shown in his eyes, because the President's voice came out much harsher.

"So be it," he spat. "Until we meet again, _tribute_." The unsubtle reminder that Peeta's life was forever subject to the President's whim made Peeta's eyes narrow.

But as the President stalked out the door and called, "He's all yours. Call me when he's _ready to talk_," Peeta couldn't help the huge smile that broke out across his face.

_She's safe!_


	2. And Back Again

**Short chapter, but necessary. Longer chapters in the works!**

**Please Review!**

**~TLD**

* * *

**Chapter Two: And Back Again**

In retrospect, the smile had been rather short-lived.

Only moments later, Peeta heard the quick, light footfalls he would come to associate with the doctor, patter across the stone floor.

But even as he hardened his face into the deadened mask that could mean anything, Peeta felt the smile within, like a fire burning in his heart. _She's safe!_ He let the mantra fill his chest, blocking the fear of President Snow's threat and anchoring him to the one thing he held dear. The only thing that mattered.

The doctor didn't speak, at first. With a series of instruments Peeta couldn't have placed even if he had seen them properly, the doctor appeared to be taking measurements – his heart rate, blood pressure, temperature… Peeta felt a wave of confusion breaking through his control, and with the tiniest of sidelong glances, Peeta stole a peek at the doctor. His face, _or her face_, Peeta thought wryly, was obscured by a facemask and overlarge spectacles, but somehow the doctor saw Peeta's glance.

"You appear to be in excellent health, despite the Games," a clear, feminine voice chimed.

Peeta raised an eyebrow at the ceiling, the question evident in his glare.

"We wouldn't want to have you _slip away_ from us before we uncovered your secrets, now would we?" she continued, her sweet voice curling around the menacing words with a sickening caress.

And with that she laid a soft hand on Peeta's forehead, caressing his temple and trailing a line of goosebumps down his jawline. Peeta repressed a shudder.

"Sleep well, my dear Peeta," she murmured, "Tomorrow you will have a choice."

She leaned into him, pulling the surgical mask away from her lips. Out of the corner of his eye, Peeta saw they were a startling purple-red. Peeta held his breath and closed his eyes, fighting the sudden vision of teeth slicing into his flesh.

"I can give you _anything_ you want," she whispered, "Fame, beauty, riches, _pleasure…_" her soft voice crooned in his ear.

Peeta locked his jaw to keep from wincing.

"Or," she continued, "I can give you pain unlike any you have ever imagined."

He felt her smile against his skin. "The choice is yours."

"You've seen some of my work already, you know?" she spoke, rising from Peeta's side and re-covering her mouth and nose with the mask. "The _mutts_, the trackerjacket venom, even the jabberjays…" she sighed, "But you, clever boy, you've survived them all." She giggled.

The sound turned Peeta's stomach.

Suddenly she sobered, "Well, with the help of, oh bother, what was her name? Ah yes, _Katniss_…" she let Katniss' name slide into a hiss. Her voice turned sinister, "We'll just have to see how you do on your own, _without her_."

Peeta grit his teeth. She was trying to goad him into speech, into anger. He felt his blood boiling, but he took a deep breath through his nose to try and calm himself.

"So sad, really," she continued, her voice pulling up in mock remorse, "After all you've been through, the two _star-crossed lovers from District 12_," she sneered at the term, "after all that, and you're still going to die alone." She smiled. "Because, believe me, Peeta, we _will_ find Katniss. And she will _beg_ for death, LONG before we ever give her that gift."

He couldn't help himself. Really, it'd all become too much. And with a growl he tried to force himself up from the table. AH! If only his hands were free! He'd wring the doctor's neck without even a moment's hesitation.

But as it was, he only managed a growl and a lunge before his head was back on the table, her right hand forcing him to lie still and her left pulling a syringe from somewhere on her person.

"Sleep well, Peeta," she whispered, bringing the syringe to the throbbing artery in his neck and stabbing it home with unnecessary force.

And as the plunger fell, Peeta felt an immediate sensation of dizziness spreading through him. As his eyesight swam and his consciousness failed, he heard her voice as if from a great distance.

"Tomorrow we begin, and, I promise you, by the time we're through, you'll wish you had never laid eyes on that mongrel _Katniss_ and her pathetic rabble of a rebellion."

And then, darkness.


	3. Sin of the Flesh

**OK, heads up. This is definitely rated ~M~ Very dark and bloody. **

**FYI, yes I did steal a torture from an episode of Lie to Me, for anyone out there who watches that show. Just be warned, if you're too squeamish to watch that show, you are DEFINITELY too squeamish for this chapter. Consider yourself warned.**

**Let me know how I'm doing! Enjoy~  
**

**~TLD  
**

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**Chapter Three: Sin of the Flesh  
**

Peeta was running. The dry, dusty soil of District 12 churning up in a cloud behind him. But he'd heard that scream. _Her scream._

"Katniss!" he shouted. His eyes scanned the busy street. Merchants, shoppers, Peacekeepers, mineworkers… his eyes scanned for her face, the face that belonged to that blood-curdling –

"Aaaah!" Katniss screamed again.

And suddenly he saw her.

A part in the crowd revealed a whipping post, and a flash of black hair that could only belong to- _CRACK!_ – the sound of the whip hitting home nearly stopped his heart.

He waited for the scream - he was only a few steps away from her now – but it never came.

"Katniss!" he shrieked, panic hitching his voice.

Three steps away. Peeta spared a glance at the Peacekeeper, surely he'd back off now that Katniss was-

Two steps. But no! He raised the whip yet again. "NO!" Peeta shouted.

One step. As the whip came down, Peeta threw himself over her fallen body, taking the full brunt of the impact across his own back. His shout of pain was mingled with his cry of dismay as he took in the sheer number of stripes across his beloved's back.

Blood oozed from every inch of her back, her curled body looking exceedingly small and fragile.

"Katniss?" he whispered into her hair. Her face was slack in unconsciousness, her forehead resting in the bloodstained dirt. With a quick backward glance, he looked up to the Peacekeeper, wanting to be prepared should another blow fall. But when he looked up, the square was empty.

Turning back to Katniss, he cupped her soft, pallid face in his hands. "Katniss, wake up," he whispered, tears rolling down his face. "Katniss, I'm here." He pressed his fingertips against her throat, feeling desperately for the pulse point that would confirm that she was alive.

One second.

Two seconds.

Nothing.

"NO!" Peeta shouted, his voice breaking in the strain. "No," he whispered. "Wake up, Katniss, wake up and live," he whimpered, burying his head in her hair.

Just then another searing pain ripped across his back.

"AH!" he shouted, the sheer agony of the injury jolting his eyes open and pulling him from his nightmare.

"Ah, there you are," the doctor sighed, her sweet feminine voice horribly out of place in the dark, stone prison, a bullwhip cradled in her gloved hands.

Peeta forced his heavy eyes to focus on her.

She was slightly of out focus. Whether that was the result of recently having been unconscious, or the growing pain he was beginning to feel on his face, or some side effect of the drugs she'd plunged into his neck, Peeta couldn't tell.

_Think Peeta,_ he commanded himself. _What's going on?_

He'd adopted this practice over the past couple of days. He'd found that was continually coming to in situations he couldn't remember getting into. And then, of course, there were the dreams that felt so real he had a hard time distinguishing them from reality. Since then, he'd been commanding himself to try and remember, and he'd been getting better and understanding what the Capitol was doing to him and what was and _wasn't _real.

He began with an inventory of his injuries. Sadly, these were the best indicators of reality. _Good God I'm in pain!_ His mind screamed. Back, of course – he could see the bullwhip, and feel the blood running in sticky rivulets down his skin. _Perhaps that explains the dream then_, he thought. He wasn't precisely sure if the Capitol was controlling the dreams, or if his present was just so horrible that the nightmares unfolded naturally. He couldn't spare much thought on it at the moment though. Face, _Bet I'm a beauty now_, he thought wryly. It felt like his eyes were swollen shut, and his nose – _probably broken_. Arms. He realized his wrists were screaming and with a quick twitch of his arms, he noticed he was hanging suspended from the ceiling by his wrists, his good leg only barely touching the floor. _That's one way to keep a man standing through his beating_, Peeta thought acidly. His ribs pained him always. He was sure he'd broken a few as early as the first day. Since then, the ache and the pressure on his lungs had never faded.

Her voice shook him from his inventory.

"Welcome back, Peeta," she chimed, smiling. "I'm impressed. You did very well. Only passed out after the _fifteenth_ lash."

Peeta swallowed, suddenly glad he had almost no memory of receiving each one.

"Of course," she continued, "It took me two more to wake you." She moved away, setting the whip down and pulling off her gloves. Before returning to him and bringing her face inches from his own.

"Oh Peeta," she sighed, "What ever shall we do with you?"

Peeta's unfocused eyes glared back at her, his jaw as if welded shut.

"So stubborn," she mused. She ran her eyes across his forehead, down his throat, across his bare chest, and further… down. Peeta closed his eyes, briefly, in disgust.

When he opened them again, she was staring at him, a hungry expression on her face.

"Oh, but surely you don't mind, Peeta," she drawled, noticing his disgust at her gaze. "Afterall," she purred, stroking her cool hand across his fevered brow, "_I_ am the one who's left such a mark on your body." She trailed her fingers down his jaw, ignoring his tensing body and his furious glares.

"Why," she giggled, running her hand across Peeta's battered chest, "I've no doubt made more of a mark on this body than any other woman," she smiled wickedly. Peeta winced as her fingers pressed along one of his broken ribs - Hard.

"Damn you!" Peeta spat between clenched teeth as the pain laced through him again.

She peeled her eyes off Peeta's chest, and brought them back to his face. Her expression was delighted.

"I'm sorry," she giggled, not sorry at all, "did I strike a nerve?"

Peeta refused to answer.

Suddenly she was tired with the game, "Always so silent!" she spat, throwing her arms up like an exasperated child. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she drew back to Peeta, her lips at his ear.

"So silent," she crooned, "and even after I burn you," she whispered, running her fingers along a burn mark on Peeta's side that he'd almost forgotten about, but her words brought back the torturous experience in full detail - the flames, the poker, the glowing tip searing down his flesh.

"Even after I cut you," she whispered, caressing her fingers along the inside of his uplifted wrist and down toward his elbow. He shivered, remembering the shallow cuts sliced into his skin, marking each second of time that he remained silent.

"Even after I _drown_ you," she crooned, caressing Peeta's neck. Peeta _almost_ coughed, the sudden memory shocking him.

As it hit him again, he felt his heart racing and a cold sweat beading on his forehead. He saw it again, the cold metal restraints on his wrists, the hard table at his back, the wet towel over his face, and the water… He'd struggled and twisted, but he couldn't escape the water and when he'd felt like his lungs were on fire, he'd scream but that would only let more water into his lungs, and then he'd felt his life, sweetly, slowly, slipping away, and would be filled with a sudden knowledge that he'd won and that he was free. But from the darkness, they'd shock him, pound his heart, clear his lungs, and suddenly, horribly, he was back again, his lungs throbbing and his body aching from the corporal punishment. "Peeta," she'd ask, "Where are the rebels hiding?" and he'd count the seconds as his minute of silence would elapse… and then - Peeta felt a panic just reliving the experience - then they'd begin again.

"But still you refuse me," the doctor continued, seemingly unaware of Peeta's panicked breathing. She sighed heavily, gazing into Peeta's wild eyes.

But then she smiled. "I guess," she began, languidly, running her hands down the panes of Peeta's chest. He winced under her possessive touch. "I'll just," she continued, as her hands continued down his stomach, "have to find…" Her hands rested at the belt of his pants, the tips of her fingers sliding shallowly underneath. Peeta tensed, his breath hitching. "… a more sensitive pressure point," she finished, smiling up at him.

Peeta's eyes burned with fury and fear, daring her to try and push him.

But instead, she backed up, ran a final caress across his bloody cheek, and turned to leave. At the threshold of the door, she turned back, and, raising her hand to her mouth, parted her lips and took one bloody finger into her mouth. She closed her eyes, a low moan rumbling in her chest, savoring the experience.

"_Sweet_ dreams," she purred.


	4. What Dreams May Come

**Ok, Chapter Four, the Capitol decides to try a new form of torture. Now, at this point in the story I'm getting to close a place where I'm not really sure what will happen. I am, as probably, many of you are, wondering - What will happen to Peeta? Will Katniss be able to rescue him? Will he survive? and- perhaps more importantly - what sort of state will he be in when/if Katniss finds him? **

**Personally, I have several theories, but I want to hear YOUR thoughts. Send in your thoughts/votes about WHAT HAPPENS TO PEETA? Does Katniss arrive in time? What sort of Peeta would be left for her if she does? PLEASE send me your thoughts, and I'll incorporate them in the story! Either via review or PM!  
**

**Just a reminder: This story is rated M, for torture, non-consensual sexuality, angst, and blood. This is another DARK chapter. Be warned.**

**Please Review! **

**Enjoy**

**~TLD  
**

* * *

**Chapter Four: What Dreams May Come**

It was hot, much too hot, but he ran still, fatigue and dehydration pressing down on him like a lead weight. His damaged leg limped clumsily behind him, each movement causing a new gush of blood to seep from his wound. He grit his teeth against the pain, knowing that he _had_ to keep moving. Katniss was at the Cornucopia. He knew she was. She'd knocked him out to keep him from following her, but dammit if he was going to let her die on his account.

_Don't die, Katniss_, the chant was a mantra in his mind. He was crashing through the trees, but he didn't care. He didn't know who would be about to hear him, who to expect to coming running to kill him, but he couldn't care. Anyone coming after him would be one less person after Katniss.

A sudden lightness filtered through the trees, and he knew he was at the edge of the clearing surrounding the Cornucopia. He paused, catching his breath, taking in the sight before him.

There were bodies strewn about the clearing. Peeta's stomach contracted.

_Limbs, _he corrected himself. There were limbs, and organs, and _Oh God_ so much blood strewn about the clearing. So many pieces he struggled to count.

_How many? How many dead?_ He forced his mind to focus even though his body wanted to vomit. He breathed heavily, knowing deep down that he'd have to walk among the carnage in order to know for sure who died and who did not. He swallowed reflexively, forcing back the thought that Katniss could be among the dead.

_What if she's lying out there injured?_ he scolded himself. _You're wasting time!_ Peeta took another strengthening breath and strode out into the field, a lone knife gripped in his fist, his only weapon.

_Clove,_ he thought, wincing, as he passed by her mangled body. Her dead eyes stared unseeing into the burning sun. _Thresh_,_ Cato, Foxface_… Peeta's breathing hitched. _Four dead?_ _Where's Katniss?_ he still hadn't seen her. She hadn't come back for him. She must be out here somewhere. _Oh God_, he thought, _Let her still be alive!_

"Katniss!" he screamed, unable to keep his panic under control. He started running, circling the Cornucopia. "Katniss!" he shrieked her name. He rounded the corner.

And then stopped dead.

Just around the corner of the Cornucopia she lay - her thin form splayed on the ground facing away from him, her dark hair waving like a flag in the slight breeze. Her hand was still gripped around her bow. He ran to her, scanning her body for any sign of breathing.

"Katniss!" he shouted, falling to his knees at her back. He gripped her shoulder. "Katniss?" She didn't move.

"Katniss?" he cried, rolling her body onto his lap so he could see her face. With a soft hand, he brushed her hair out of her face.

And then, he screamed.

Her face was stained and marred with bloodstains flooding down her cheeks from the gaping holes where her eyes _used_ to be. He screamed, dropping her body from his lap in shock.

"Peeta?" she stirred.

Peeta was choking, sobbing, gasping for air. Her lifeless body was now stirring, her gaping eye sockets turning toward him. He clenched his teeth against the urge to vomit.

"Katniss!" he cried, mastering his revulsion. But even as he brought his hand to touch her, she shuddered and breathed her last.

"No!" he screamed, cursing himself for wasting the last precious seconds of his beloved's life in revulsion. He curled over her, wrapping her mangled body in his arms. "Katniss, No!" he murmured, rocking her, "Katniss, don't leave me!"

Just then a loud BOOM rent the air, and Peeta knew the final canon had sounded, signaling the final death of the Hunger Games. He clutched her tighter to himself, refusing to be parted with her. Wherever they took the dead bodies, that was where he wanted to go – just toss him in the grave with the rest of him – he wasn't leaving Katniss' side.

He waited, but the hovercraft never arrived. Finally, the voice sounded through the arena. "Congratulations, Tribute from District 12, you have out-survived all of your competitors! However, the 74th Hunger Games are not yet over! May the odds be _never_ in your favor!"

Even as the voice faded into the distance, Peeta heard a strange rumbling sound closing in on him. The sound of clawed feet pawing the ground filled the silence and suddenly Peeta knew what was coming for him. In that same instant, a large black wolf – _a mutt_ – Peeta corrected himself, jumped out from behind the Cornucopia. Thick black fur, and strong, lean muscles rippled across its body as its muzzle curled up in a blood-curling snarl.

Peeta felt himself backing up slowly, pushing himself along the ground, until his back bumped into the Cornucopia. _I have to climb up_, he thought dimly.

But then, all thought was erased from his mind.

As the black _mutt_ stalked him, he suddenly caught its eye.

_Her eye_, he thought, his heart dropping into his stomach. _Oh God,_ he thought, _It has Katniss' eyes._

He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He couldn't even think of escaping.

"Katniss?" he whispered.

Katniss' eyes seemed to narrow, focusing in on the prey too weak to fight back. For one wild second, Peeta thought he saw a glimmer of recognition in those eyes, as if the creature remembered him, but then-

The beast lunged. And as its razor claws raked across his flesh, as its horrible fangs pierced his throat, as it slowly ripped and shredded him apart, Peeta could do nothing but scream.

"Ahh!" Peeta screamed, jolted awake by the horrible nightmare. He sat bolt upright in bed, the covers falling from his exposed chest. He struggled violently with his breathing, forcing his heart to slow down and his breath to cease whooshing out of him in wailing gasps.

As his breathing slowed, his eyes roamed the room. He was in Katniss' room in the Capitol. He recognized the bed, the furnishings… Slowly, he turned to his right.

And, yes, there she was, sound asleep in her bed. He smiled. She was safe.

He took a deep breath, trying to dispel the final remnants of his nightmare, and reclined back in the bed. He curled around her, taking her soft, warm body in his arms. He didn't want to wake her, but seeing her like that, her stern face softened in sleep, he couldn't help but stroke a tiny caress across her cheek. She didn't stir, so he leaned down to put a light kiss on her forehead. Her skin was exceedingly soft beneath his lips, and he breathed her in deeply, savoring the scent and feel of her.

She smelled like, _Roses_, he thought. And then…_ blood?_

Peeta pulled back, concern etched across his face.

"Katniss?" he murmured, wondering if she was hurt. He couldn't see blood, but...

She didn't answer.

"Katniss?" he called, a little louder. _Roses and blood_, Peeta thought, trying to puzzle it out. And then –

"No, Peeta," she said.

It was that voice.

Not the rough, earthy tone of Katniss' voice.

It was _her_ voice. Frilly and feminine and… sickening.

And suddenly, awareness hit Peeta like a battering ram.

He jumped up, pulling away from Not-Katniss, and stared back with appalled eyes.

In her place, exactly where he'd been holding Katniss, the forehead he'd kissed, the cheek he'd nuzzled, _she_ was there. The doctor sat up, her putrid purple-red lips smirking at him.

He saw her face clearly for the first time – sky-blue eyes, with flecks of gold dancing in them, flowing golden locks, streaks of oranges and reds making her hair look like the flame of a candle.

"Oh Peeta," she chimed, "This is nice, isn't it?"

Peeta felt the urge to vomit again, his muscles tensing as if preparing for a fight. He wanted to get up, to run away, to get as far from this woman as possible, but he found he couldn't move.

But even as the realization sunk in, she was leaning toward him.

Panicking, he spoke, "What is this? What's going on? Where am I?" The questions poured out.

To his immense pleasure, the questions distracted her from whatever advance she was making, and she stopped, and, smiling, answered him.

"Oh Peeta," she cried, her voice seeming to break with joy, "How nice it is to hear your voice!" She smiled, "And having a nice, civil conversation to boot! I knew you could be reasonable."

Peeta waited. He tried to move his legs, his arms, his head. His breathing hitched when he realized he couldn't move any of them. She still didn't answer his questions.

He glared at her. "Where am I?" he spat through his teeth.

She simply smiled larger and scooted her body even closer to his. He could feel her shoulder and her hip press against his. She half-turned, bringing her face even with his, and laid a hand on his bare shoulder.

He swallowed hard, his muscles bunching in a desperate attempt to break through whatever was keeping them still and remove her hand from his skin. He groaned with the effort, his face contorting in agony and disgust as she drew ever closer.

"Peeta," she murmured, and she pushed back on his shoulder, laying him back on the pillows once more.

_This can't be happening_, Peeta thought. _We can't be here!_ Now that his memories had returned, he was fully aware that he was being held captive by the Capitol. But the room looked so real! The pillows felt so soft against his back. And her touch, _that_ was certainly real.

_It can't be real_, he chanted, _It can't be real_.

But even as he chanted, she moved again. She loomed over his body, straddling his hips. He felt her weight on his stomach, her heat against his skin. He bit down, hard, a fury building in him he hadn't known he was capable of.

"Get. Off." He spat, his eyes shooting daggers.

Instead she lowered her body to rest against his chest, her elbows holding her head up so that her lips hung inches above his own.

He shuddered. He could feel the length of her body pressing into his, the delicate pressure of her breasts on his chest and the rougher weight of her hips against his. Had the whole situation not made him want to vomit, it _might_ have been a turn-on. Certainly if it were Katniss' hips pressed against his, Katniss' breasts- But he stopped himself. _That _line of thinking was definitely not helping him.

He looked up again at the putrid purple lips dangling above his own. He kept his face blank, his eyes empty. _Whatever game she think she's playing at_, _I'm not playing_, he thought.

"Oh, but you _will_," she said, answering his thoughts. She propped herself up on him now, smiling at the look of shock that crossed his features.

"Tell me, Peeta..." she said, her voice taking on that slightly clinical tone she used for interrogations, "everything you know about Katniss Everdeen."

Well, and that was easily answered. Peeta scoffed.

The doctor smiled, a singularly sinister smile, before grinding her hips, _hard_, against him.

He locked his jaw, but even so, his breath rushed out in a throaty huff. He narrowed his eyes in disgust.

She started again, moving agonizingly slowly against him. "Where are the rebels hiding?" she crooned.

Peeta's paralyzed body threatened to betray him, her languid movements arousing nerves and awakening hungers that Peeta bit back only with a supreme effort of will. His body was straining in tightness, his muscles bunched, screaming to be free of their paralysis, dying to throw the monster off of him. His jaw ached with the pressure he was using to force it locked, but he refused to relent.

She pressed against him again, and a sharp gasp died in his throat. She smiled as she brought those sickening lips to his chest. His panicked eyes followed her, so when those lips pressed against his skin, and the sharp teeth within sliced into his flesh, he was prepared to silence the shout that crawled to his lips.

"Oh Peeta," she sighed, a truly delighted look crossing her face, "You aren't going to make me _force_ the information out of you, are you?" Her eyes practically shone in her face when she caressed his chest on the word 'force.'

For the first time, he felt an inkling of true fear – he did NOT want this – did NOT want the hands, the lips, the _body_ of his torturer on his. Pain was one thing, humiliation, degrading torture, death – all these he could withstand, but _this_ – the threat of _pleasure_ - even the word made his stomach contract - at the hands of _that_… He stared at her, momentarily overcome by her sadistic monstrosity. He swallowed down the fear that threatened to drown him, and spoke – though, he was only vaguely aware of the words that came to him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice breaking slightly under the strain.

She paused, silent.

And for a moment, Peeta thought she'd been appeased by his answer. But then,

"Tsk, tsk," she shook her head in mock sadness. "Peeta, lying simply will not do." Her wicked grin returned, and she brought those horrible lips to his ear.

"Now, it's my turn."

He felt her mouth close around the artery in his neck, her lips and teeth sucking and nipping. Her hands slid down the sides of his ribcage, meeting at his waist. And as they fumbled with his belt, he screamed, shouting and thrashing and -

He woke with a start. As his panting and gasping subsided, and his bleary eyes adjusted, he found himself curled up in a ball in the corner of his cell, alone. After a long moment, waiting for the axe to drop and another series of horrific events to unfold, Peeta let out a long breath, and then, burying his face into his knees, let the tears fall.


	5. To New Eyes

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Here we go with another heart-wrenching chapter. Bear with me... BIG things in the works. Stay tuned for something MAJOR in the next chapter!**

**Please Review and let me know how I'm doing. Don't forget: Heed the rating ~M~ **

**Enjoy~**

**~TLD  
**

* * *

**Chapter Five: To New Eyes**

"_Come now, Ms. Mason," a slimy, feminine voice chimed, "You don't honestly expect me to believe that you knew NOTHING of the electrical explosion in the arena and the escape that followed?"_

"_Hah," a husky, sarcastic voice scoffed. "You obviously underestimate me. Believe ME, doctor, I expect VERY LITTLE of you." The husky voice broke into a short laugh. _

_WHAM! The sound of a heavy thud echoed through the halls._

"_Get her up!" The feminine voice turned hard and commanding. The sound of scuffing feet mingled with broken moans._

"_Tell me about the involvement of Peeta Mellark, Tribute from District 12," the doctor ordered._

"_Who?" the husky voice asked, laughter heavy in her voice. "Never heard of him."_

_WHAM! The sound of a body hitting the floor smacked with a dull thud._

"_Where are the rebels hiding?" the doctor's voice commanded._

"_Listen, doc," Johanna's voice was utterly bored. Her breath hissed out of her in painful gasps, but even so, the derision in her tone was unmistakable. "Even if I knew, I certainly wouldn't tell you. So let's just cut to the chase here, OK? You obviously aren't getting anything out of me, so you might as well hurry up and kill me already."_

_Silence._

_Finally, the doctor's soft voice hissed through the silence. "You're right," she paused, a smile evident in her tone, "Well, you're right about one thing. I am __**most certainly**__going to kill you. But-" she paused, "You're wrong on one thing. I've already gotten everything I need from you." _

_The sound of a struggle, of someone thrashing in chains, rattled against the stone._

"_Yes," the doctor whispered, "In your mind. Your thoughts and memories are swimming in vital information – the rebels' plans, the location of the hideout, the plan to break the tributes out of the games," she paused, her voice practically bubbling with excitement. "You've already given me everything we need." Her voice dropped into a deadly monotone, "I just wanted to hear you __**say**__ it."_

_Suddenly the bubbly voice was back. "But, as you said, since that is impossible…" Her voice drifted into silence. "There's just __**one**__ more, __**little**__ thing I need from you…"_

WHAM!

The sound of a door slamming jolted Peeta from his sleep.

He opened his eyes cautiously, nights and days of unceasing terrors making him wary of immediately accepting what he sees _as real_. His eyes roamed the room. Everything seemed normal enough. He appeared to be exactly where he remembered falling asleep, that is, curled up on the stone floor of his cell. His body ached from sleeping on the floor, his limbs feeling like dead weights. But he breathed deeply, relaxing fractionally.

_First full night's sleep in…_ he thought, _I can't even remember_. He stretched his aching muscles, running his hands along his face, neck, shoulders, chest, feeling for new cuts and bruises. All seemed normal.

Suddenly, he stopped dead.

_Full night's sleep? No nightmares? No signs of new torture?_ Peeta felt his blood run cold. Something was up. _This can't be good._

He pulled himself to a seated position, pushing himself along the cold floor until his back rested against the corner wall. He tucked his knees into his chest and trained his still sleepy eyes on the door across the room. He took a deep breath. And he waited.

It wasn't long before Peeta's fears were confirmed.

With a small click the door to his cell swung open, and Peeta stared into the ice blue eyes of the demon, the keeper of his own personal Hell. President Snow stalked into the room, followed by two guards. His eyes bored into Peeta's as the guards entered, set down a chair for him, and hurried across the room to pull Peeta from his corner. They grabbed him under each arm and dragged him roughly across the floor, depositing him on his knees before the, now seated, President Snow.

Peeta made no effort to fight back, only moving to situate himself more comfortably on his good knee, his eyes never leaving the president's face. He waited for his captor to speak.

As the silence lengthened, Peeta remembered President Snow's earlier words: _You'll be begging to tell me all your secrets_. He smirked internally. _If he's waiting for begging,_ Peeta thought_, this is going to be a long meeting. _

After a moment, the President broke the silence. "Peeta," he said, "the doctor has been keeping me informed about your _progress_." He smiled a wicked grin. Peeta squirmed internally, wondering just _what_ the doctor defined as 'progress.' "She assured me that you'd be pleased to speak with me today," he finished.

Peeta tried to place that look on his face. It was somewhere between amusement and… anticipation? Clearly the president did not truly believe Peeta wanted to talk, but something about this _talk_ filled him with excitement. Peeta's skin crawled. Distracting himself from the hideous possibilities springing to mind, he found his voice.

"She lied," he answered, his much-abused voice a hollow echo of what it used to be.

"Ha!" the President chortled jovially, as if Peeta had just made the most charming joke. "Well, no," he clarified, containing his laughter. "It's true, she didn't say that." His smile fell from his face, replaced by a disgusted sneer, "But you _will_," he finished ominously.

Peeta returned his glare, utterly exhausted of death threats. "I've nothing to say to her or to you," he replied evenly, "You might as well give over on pretense and just kill me," he finished.

His own reply gave him pause, and he pondered over the vaguely familiar quality of the words. He was sure he hadn't said them before. Had he heard them recently? In a dream perhaps?

But before he could puzzle it out, President Snow was chuckling.

"Oh, my dear boy," he snorted, "I'm not going to kill you yet." His laughter faded, but the sinister smile remained. "No, I'm going to wait until we have _completely_ crushed your little rebellion, and then I'll march you and that _little bitch_ Katniss out onto the stage and let all of Panem watch your final destruction." President Snow looked off into the distance, a wistful expression on his face.

Peeta's eyes burned with fury, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

After a moment, President Snow seemed to remember him. "It's amazing really," he mused, "how one little girl can cause so much trouble." He smiled sardonically, "Of course, I don't need to tell _you_. Look at the havoc Ms. Katniss Everdeen has wreaked on _your_ life." He gestured toward Peeta. "I mean, look at you!" He laughed.

Peeta concentrated on taking deep breaths to keep from hurling himself at the President. He could feel the guards at his side, just waiting for an excuse to beat him into oblivion.

"Smart, strong, good-looking boy such as yourself," the President continued, "You could have done anything. And so eloquent," he exclaimed, "Think of all you could accomplish in the Capitol – the people just hang on your every word!" He sighed. "And yet you waste your life running after the rebel trash of a girl who, not only never knew you existed, but only ever _pretended_ to love you."

Peeta heart pounded in his ears and his blood boiled, and without a second thought, he hurled himself at President Snow's mocking face. Strong hands caught him and threw him back onto the ground at the President's feet. And then, agony. Peeta shouted and thrashed as fists and boots pounded his face and ribs.

"Enough," President Snow's voice halted the beating.

Gasping and bleeding, Peeta pulled himself to his knees once more. He kept his eyes trained on the floor, afraid that seeing President Snow's face would set him off again.

"Peeta," the President's voice was patient, "I've warned you before, and I'll warn you again: Give me what I want, or suffer most…_ dreadfully_."

Peeta kept his head bowed, his eyes trained on the floor, refusing to be moved by the President's threat. After a long moment, the President's voice hissed by his ear.

"So be it."

Peeta felt a sharp stab in the side of his neck. One of the guards had injected him with something. He looked up rapidly to see the President walking briskly from the room. The last thing he heard before the door shut behind him was, "Bring her."

The guards backed away from him. Peeta watched them move with growing concern. Whatever had been injected in his body was affecting his vision. The ground seemed to lurch and spin. Colors and shapes that were not there before began to form in the corners of his vision. He looked up to the faces of the guards in horror. They seemed to be changing faces; male, female, dark, light, human, and then… not so human. The whole world seemed to swirl and spin before him.

"What-" Peeta began, but his question was cut off as the door to his cell opened up yet again.

Not President Snow this time, but… _Guards_, Peeta decided. He stared hard at each of their faces, forcing his mind to focus despite the hallucinations. _And…the doctor!_ He saw her clearly, her putrid purple lips looking ghoulish through the lens of his hallucination. He squinted his eyes. The guards seemed to be dragging something between them.

_Someone!_ Peeta realized with a shock. He stared intently at the down-turned head of the captive. Dark hair fell like streamers to the floor. The guards' hands were clenched tightly around petite arms. _Like a doll_, Peeta thought wildly.

And then she lifted her head. _Oh God,_ Peeta thought, his mind immediately jumping to Katniss. The swell of panic made him dizzy and he nearly fell over, despite his kneeling position on the floor.

_Focus_, he commanded himself. He narrowed his eyes on her face, searching for Katniss' grey eyes, her angular features. Dark eyes stared back him. _Brown?_ he thought. But then his vision swam again, and unmistakably grey eyes gazed back.

"Katniss?" he whispered, feeling as though he were falling down a deep, narrow hole.

The girl struggled in the arms of her captors as they tried to force her to her knees in front of Peeta.

"No, Peeta. It's-" but her voice was cut off but a guard's sharp punch to her face.

But in that split second, Peeta recognized that voice.

"Johanna?" he asked. _Oh God,_ he thought. He'd never thought about the fact that the others might have been picked up as well. He'd been so glad Katniss was safe that he hadn't thought of anyone else. "Are you alright?" he murmured, knowing it was a stupid question even as it left his lips.

But it wasn't Johanna that answered.

"Oh good!" the doctor chirped, "It seems you two are already acquainted!" She giggled, and then turned to Peeta.

"Peeta," she crooned, "Ms. Mason and I have just been having a lovely chat about all of your little friends, and, oh bother, what was her name? Oh yes, Ms. Everdeen." She smirked, eyeing Peeta's growing agitation. "Well, Ms. Mason has been just _so_ helpful," the doctor beamed, throwing Johanna a huge smile. Peeta watched Johanna's jaw drop in horror.

"Peeta," she cried, panicking, "I didn't- I didn't mean to-" but she was cut off again by another slap to the face. Peeta almost lurched to his feet, but the world spun again and he was knocked to the floor.

The doctor continued on as if nothing had happened. "So helpful, but, you see, we've come to something of an impasse, you see," her voice soft and detached, "and well," she advanced on Peeta, "we were hoping you might give us a reason to keep her around." She paused, letting her words sink in. "Otherwise, I'm afraid," she sighed, her face contorting in mock sadness, "Ms. Mason is rather…useless."

Her words finally reached Peeta and he was struck with dull horror.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice a deadened monotone.

Her grossly distorted face face lit up like Christmas, "Oh, that's easy, my dear Peeta. Just tell me everything you know about the rebellion and the rebels' plans."

Peeta paused, as if struggling with a difficult decision. He forced coherent thoughts through, even as the world shifted again, and the green tinged faces of the guards melted onto pools on the floor. _Focus!_ he commanded. If he could just make them believe he did _know_ something, maybe they'd keep Johanna alive as leverage. It certainly wouldn't improve his lot, but it might save her life. As long as he could lie convincingly enough.

"I'll tell you everything I know," he answered, struggling to keep his voice even.

"NO!" Johanna screamed, "Peeta don't!" Her voice was silenced once again. Blood dripped into her eyes from a gash on her forehead.

Their eyes locked, and Peeta realized, _She knows I don't know anything_.

"Yes, _do_, Peeta," the doctor sneered. She turned her attention on Peeta, Johanna at her back. Her piercing blue eyes bored into his own, but Peeta's attention was divided. Because, as she turned her back, one of the guards drew his gun and pressed the tip of it against Johanna's forehead. Peeta's heart skipped a beat. He forced his eyes to focus on Johanna. And somehow, though the rest of the room spun in a kaledoscope of colors and shapes, Johanna's face remained in focus.

Peeta watched as her breathing seemed to hitch. Her eyes locked onto his as if holding his gaze was like tethering her to life itself. Peeta stared back, aching, as if the sheer force of his will could save her life.

"Peeta," the doctor began, the words only registering dimly to Peeta, "Tell me, who is the leader of the rebellion?" She paused. "Who planned the escape from the arena?"

Peeta drew a quick breath. _Say something!_ his brain screamed. Johanna's eyes held him. Still no thoughts came into his head. He opened his mouth anyway, banking on some force of luck to make actual words come forth. But before he could speak, Johanna's head twitched – the slightest, most inconsequential of movements, but, as her eyes drove into his, he knew she was telling him _No_. His confusion gave him pause, and in that second of his hesitation, the doctor spoke again.

"Tell me: _where is Katniss_!" her voice seemed to shriek as she said Katniss' name.

And suddenly, Peeta understood.

They never expected him to answer. They never expected him to give up Katniss for Johanna. This was just another sick game.

As these revelations crashed down on him, he felt his face contort in pain. Eyes welling with tears, he stared into Johanna's eyes. No longer panicked, they were strong, determined. Peeta swore he could see tongues of hellfire burning in her deep, brown eyes. He hardened his in response, refusing to betray her dying defiance.

"Nothing?" the doctor sighed.

"I'm sorry," Peeta whispered to Johanna, his voice even and strong. It wasn't pity he felt. He'd never feel pity for a warrior such as Johanna. It was pride… and regret.

She heard it in his tone, so rather than feeling broken, her face curled up into her signature cynical smirk. "Don't be," she replied, a smile playing on her lips.

"Oh well," the doctor interrupted, and nodded to the guard.

And just before the gunshot silenced her forever, Johanna Mason's fiery brown eyes sparkled at Peeta as she made her final command, "Make him pay for it."

And with the BANG, her body slumped against the floor, her bloody and broken face staring with unseeing eyes at Peeta. And as the world lurched into tongues of red, Peeta felt her gaze, like a knife through his chest, and it cut right through him.

With a feral snarl, he forced himself up from the floor. Drowning in his rage, he lunged across the room, managing to land a few blows on the guards and a backhanded swipe across the doctor's face before he was beaten back by the stream of reinforcements who, between beating to the brink of death, managed to inject him with something heavy and cloying.

He screamed until his voice broke, and as the drug-induced darkness descended over him, Johanna's eyes burned hellfire, unblinking in the blackness.


	6. Enough

**OK! Here we go. So... just a heads up. This is NOT the final chapter. At LEAST two more to go. Then maybe there'll be Blood and Roses Part 2, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there. So all I'm saying is don't HATE me (too much) when you get to the end. Hopefully, I'll have Chapter Seven up by the end of the week (don't quote me on that). **

**More dreams and not dreams. Yes, I realize it's hard to tell the difference. You'll just have to struggle along with Peeta to find what's real. (If you get REALLY confused - just message me and I'll try to clear it up. I think it's pretty clear... ish. You know, as clear as drug-induced torturous hallucination/nightmares can be, that is.)**

**Please review! Heed the rating ~M~  
**

**~TLD  
**

* * *

**Chapter Six: Enough**

"Peeta!" a whispered voice hissed in his ear.

Peeta felt hands shaking his body.

"Psst, Peeta! Wake up!" the whispered voice was more urgent.

"What?" he yawned, still reluctantly fighting off sleep.

Groaning and struggling against the weight of sleep, Peeta forced his fatigued eyes open. He brought his fists to his eyes, rubbing the foggy sleep from them, trying to clear his very bleary vision. When his vision finally cleared, the sight before him stopped his heart.

"Katniss?" he whispered incredulously.

She looked worn, like she'd been fighting for days, perhaps gone with little sleep. Her black hair was pulled back into her braid, and he grey eyes glinted with triumph, and perhaps a bit of fear. It was _her!_ Peeta couldn't believe it!

And then, suddenly, he was wary. He'd seen quite a few Katniss' over the past weeks.

Her face cracked into her sardonic form of a smile. "Yes, Peeta," she said his name with the same inflection one might use on the word _idiot_. "Now will you stop gawking and wake up! This is a rescue after all!" She smirked, but Peeta could see her joy beneath the gesture. She was happy to see him alive. But then her eyes narrowed and Peeta realized just how serious this situation was.

_Katniss is inside the Capitol! Trying to save me. If I don't move, and fast, they'll have her, _Peeta thought. His eyes narrowed in response.

"You shouldn't have come for me," he murmured, his voice low and harsh.

A look of confusion crossed Katniss' face and she seemed to struggle with her words, before she said, "I had to. You know I had to."

Peeta watched for signs of her hidden emotions – the ones that always showed plainly in her eyes despite her attempts to hide them from him – but she suddenly turned her head toward the door, just as a small click echoed throughout the cell. Someone was coming!

"Katniss," Peeta whispered urgently, "Go! Someone's coming! Get of here! Now!"

But before she could move, the door swung open. Peeta stared into the cold eyes of President Snow.

"Peeta!" he chirped, but then stopped, and seeing Katniss added, "Oh My! And what do we have here?"

Katniss jumped to her feet, a dagger magically appearing in her hands.

"Katniss," President Snow sighed, a delighted smile contorting his face.

Suddenly the room was full of guards and Peeta watched in horror as Katniss fought guard after guard until a bone-crunching kick from one of them caught in her the head and she fell, unconscious to the floor. Peeta struggled to his feet but then the guards were on him, beating him mercilessly back to the floor. And just before the guards knocked him out, he heard President Snow order: "Clean them up. The Show begins in an hour, and all of Panem is _dying_ to see them."

When Peeta felt his consciousness returning, he opened his eyes to a bright – blindingly bright – white light shining directly into his eyes. His arms and legs were strapped to his sides. He tried wiggling his wrists out of the straps, but he was distracted when the bright light was suddenly smothered by a face hovering directly over his own. The masked face was hidden in silhouette from the overhead light, but Peeta swore he could see the blue of the Doctor's eyes shining through the shade. Upon seeing Peeta's opened eyes, the Doctor ordered some muffled command and suddenly the darkness fell back around him.

Peeta's eyes jerked open and he lurched to a seated position.

President Snow chuckled heartily.

"Ah, Peeta," he sighed, "You're awake. Perfect timing."

Peeta turned his head slowly toward the door and the sound of President's voice. He was standing just inside the threshold, a flank of guards standing on either side of him. His head was cocked slightly to the left, an interested expression on his face, and a crooked grin contorting his cheeks in a slightly ghoulish, lopsided smirk.

President Snow raised an eyebrow, "Well?" he asked, "Aren't you coming?"

Peeta's face bent in confusion. _What? Where? How?_ Half-formed questioned filled his head and he directed his gaze to his own body, now sitting up in what appeared to be a hospital bed. His questions died in his throat when he saw his prosthetic leg had been returned to him. _Guess I am going somewhere after all_… he thought vaguely.

And then he remembered. They had Katniss.

President Snow's words swirled around him… _I'll march you and that __**little bitch**__ Katniss out onto the stage and let all of Panem watch your final destruction…_

Peeta's horror had no words, but as President Snow watched and waited for him, he felt himself rising from the bed, standing surprisingly sturdily on his legs, and allowing the guards to escort him away. His body felt light, agile, and he looked down upon himself – although covered by a thin shirt and trousers, Peeta saw his arms were clean and scar-free. He rubbed a hand across his face. His however-many-weeks-old straggly stubble was gone and his perpetually broken nose was perfectly straight. _They'll want me to look pretty for my execution_, he thought acidly.

The walk down the corridors toward the stage area, Peeta presumed, was surprisingly short. Peeta caught the interested glances of doctors and scientists, all with varying degrees of Capitol-esque body alteration. His thoughts swirled around to no particular end. It wasn't until he realized that he was experiencing a strange lack of emotion around the whole ordeal that he started to notice… strange things.

For one, his body was not only free of blemish, but also, completely free of pain. He hadn't been able to stand on his own for days now – not to mention walk pain-free. And another thing – considering he felt so well, why was he allowing himself to be led to his execution? Katniss' execution?

_No! _he thought suddenly. _I should_…

Before he could finish the thought, however, the procession halted before a large metal door. It swung inward and Peeta stared into the dark beyond. The guards waited.

"Go on," President Snow ordered.

The guards didn't move. But Peeta did.

Peeta felt his legs propel him steadily into the dark. His mind shied away from what might lie within, but he found he couldn't stop himself from going onward.

The dark was all-encompassing. But still Peeta continued on. It wasn't until he reached what he imagined must be the middle of the stage that the darkness thinned. And suddenly, he saw her.

_Katniss!_ She was waiting for him in the center of the stage. The lights rose steadily and she was revealed to him in slow, miraculous increments. Her grey eyes blazed, just as he had remembered them from the beach in the arena – when he had realized she was fighting to keep him alive. Her skin glowed with the sun-kissed olive complexion that set off the dark coal of her hair. She was radiant.

She smiled at him.

"Katniss," he whispered, half in awe, half in misery.

She opened her mouth to speak. But instead President Snow's voice thundered throughout the auditorium.

"And now, Panem, witness the execution of the two most dangerous traitors our great nation has ever known. Learn by their example that anarchy, rebellion, and _sedition_ do not pay. They will receive no mercy. Such will be the fate of any district that continues to oppose us."

A spotlight fell on Peeta and Katniss. Peeta looked around for the executioner, President Snow, even an audience member, but the veil of black was impenetrable. There was only Peeta, Katniss, and the darkness. A long, silent moment passed as Peeta tried to figure out where the threat might come from. _A mutation perhaps? A bomb? Gas? _His mind reeled through all of the possibilities.

President Snow spoke again. "Go ahead, Peeta."

Peeta's brow crumpled in confusion. _Go ahead, what?_ he thought.

Before it was even a conscious thought, Peeta was walking toward Katniss. She smiled at his approach, and he smiled back. _One final embrace_… he thought wistfully. His hands reached out and cupped Katniss' face. Her skin was so soft under his touch. He longed to kiss her. He instructed his body to move toward her – his lips to press themselves against hers – but he found he couldn't move!

_No, wait, that's not right_, he thought panicking. He watched his hands move down Katniss' cheeks with mounting horror. He HAD NOT instructed them to do that. _Stop!_ he thought. But his hands kept moving.

He watched, gaping, as his hands rested on the sides of Katniss' neck. Her expression was serene and content – enjoying his caress. But Peeta's heart was beating out of his chest. He could feel Katniss' soft skin beneath his fingers, feel the beat of her pulse against his palms, but he _COULDN'T_ move his hands! They were completely out of his control!

And then, Peeta's heart nearly stopped when he felt it.

His hands were tightening around Katniss' neck.

Her expression jumped from serene to shocked when she felt the pressure increase.

Peeta struggled with his immobile body, trying to pull himself way – his hands, his feet, his whole body straining against whatever force had stolen control away from him. But he couldn't move a muscle. He couldn't even shout out!

_Fight Katniss!_ he begged her with his thoughts. _Fight and __**Kill Me**__ before I kill you!_

But his silent pleas were useless. Katniss began to struggle in his grasp. Her grey eyes flashed with panic and pain. She raked her sharp nails across his hands and arms, trying to break his inhuman grasp. She twisted and writhed, and Peeta felt a sharp pain as her nails cut into one of his eyes. Peeta didn't even flinch. He couldn't turn away, couldn't move, and so he watched in anguish as her lips turned steadily bluer and her struggles became more and more feeble.

_NO! _Peeta's mind shrieked against the invasion. _No! NO! __**NO!**_

Katniss' eyes wheeled in her head. "Peeta…" she whispered.

And then her body went limp in his arms.

His grasp broke and suddenly control crashed back on Peeta. His strength whooshed out of him and he fell down beside Katniss' lifeless body. And then the screaming started.

Peeta woke screaming.

Tears cascaded from his eyes like they'd never stop. He thrashed about for several moments, throwing off the last remnants of sleep and the most horrifying dream he'd ever had.

_Dream?_ he thought suddenly, his gasping slowly slightly as he entertained this new thought. _Not real?_

He couldn't be sure.

He opened his eyes slowly, trying to take in the situation and make sense of this newest torture to his mind.

His vision was blurry, but he forced his eyes to focus on his arms. _No scratches_, he thought. He reached a tentative hand to his face. His hand rubbed against the rough hair of his scraggly beard. He sighed. _Just a dream_.

He sat back on his heels, relishing – oddly enough – the fact that he did NOT have his prosthetic leg, and raised his head to take in a deep, cleansing breath.

And froze.

He was back in his cell. That much was obvious. But, they had added something to the room.

A mirror. And he was staring straight into it.

More so than that - the Peeta that gazed back confronted Peeta with an incredulous, agonized, horrorstruck, and decidedly rakish gaze: One eye blue. And the other… hellfire brown.

"No," Peeta breathed, disgust turning his stomach. He crawled closer to the mirror, as if touching his reflection might verify the sight before him.

"Brown suits you." The Doctor's sweet voice jolted Peeta from his inspection.

He turned to face her. She was leaning comfortably by the door, her eyes sparkling with fun. But even so, Peeta could not hold her gaze. His eyes jumped back to his reflection as he spoke. "You… did this?" he muttered, his voice shaking. "You…cut out…" He felt bile rushing up his throat and cut off his sentence to keep from throwing up.

She giggled gently. "Well, _she_ certainly didn't need it, and we thought it would mean so much more to you," she drawled.

Peeta's mouth dropped open, disbelief warring with the panic that threatened to send him over the edge. His body started shaking subtly.

She turned to leave. "It's a shame we couldn't find a _use_ for her _alive_. I can only hope you won't share her… _lack of vision_." She smirked.

Peeta's breathing hitched and his hands balled into fists. But before he could launch himself at the doctor, she was out the door – it's solid click locking him inside with his nightmares, his reflection, and his failure to save Johanna mocking him from his own face.

He stared at his mutilated reflection, and, even in his face, Johanna's eye seemed to burn hellfire. But now it wasn't burning for revenge against the Capitol. It was burning with hatred for the boy who had forfeited her life.

Peeta felt his rage filled him like a scorching fire. He was drowning in it, burning, smothering everything he'd ever been or ever could have been in an unending flow of sheer unbridled unquenchable hate. For the Capitol. For the Games. For the sick irony that kept him alive and sacrificed everyone he loved in his place. How many more would die because of him? How many more would die simply so he could live? How many might die _trying to save him_?

_ENOUGH!_ he thought. His rage broke and he slammed his fists against the mirror. It burst into a million pieces, slivers cutting into his fists and shattering across the floor.

The sight froze him momentarily. And, as his mind centered and cooled, his eyes fell upon a particularly large shard… with a long, pointed end.

"Enough," he said softly, lifting the shard from the wreckage. _I've done my job_, he thought. As far as he knew, Katniss was safe. But how long would she remain safe if he lived? How long would she be safe if she came to rescue him? And if she were caught? Peeta shook his head on the thought.

_She'll never be caught. She'll never have a reason to._

He lifted the shard. He clutched it tightly in his right hand, the sharp edges cutting into his palm. As he raised his arm, he prayed that President Snow would be true to his word – and publicize his death across the country.

And as he plunged the mirror shard into his heart, he thought: _**Live**__, Katniss… I love you._

He fell back, a grin spreading across his face as he felt his lifeblood spilling away in rushing torrents.

And even as the door swung open and guards and doctors rushed in, Peeta grinned.


	7. Heartbeats and Silence

**And now! The moment we've all been waiting for! This will be the "Last" chapter for this story, but look for the Epilogue in the next couple days - which should open up some new angles... So Stay Tuned. Also, I'm toying with the idea of Blood and Roses: Book Two - which would continue where the Epilogue leaves off. Please, let me know what you think of my story and whether or not I should keep it going!**

**Thanks for all the great reviews! Remember, heed the rating ~M~ Another Bloody chapter (no surprise there)!**

**Enjoy~**

**~TLD  
**

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Heartbeats and Silence**

The darkness was heavy. Heavy and cloying. For long moments, or hours, or days, there was nothing aside from the heavy darkness. Not time. Not pain. Not existence. There was only the darkness that clung and pressed. There was no Capitol. No rebellion. No war. No Katniss. No Peeta. No sight, or feel, or sound. Only darkness. Only nothingness.

And then, out of nothing, the darkness thinned, and the silence was broken.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Each beep seemed to grow louder in his ears. The steady monotony continued, pounding in to him. Slowly, he _felt._

He could feel the hard table on his back. He could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath – a tightness restricting his movements and pulling against his efforts to fill his lungs. He _felt_. He had a body. The darkness had pulled away and Peeta realized slowly, _I'm alive_.

No sooner had he realized that he lived, that he – Peeta – was still living and breathing, Peeta felt it: _Pain._

He groaned, squeezing his eyes tight against the pains that laced his chest and body. He tried to press his hands to the site of the pain, but his wrists caught and a stabbing pain radiated up from the crook of his arm.

His moan of pain groaned out between clenched teeth as his strength faded.

He let his arms relax. _Tired_, he thought, his consciousness slipping away. _So, so tired_.

And then the darkness closed around him again.

* * *

"…_And, Doctor, was the procedure __**successful**__?"_ _A cold voice murmured_.

"_Yes, sir," a frilly voice replied, "He won't be slipping away from us anytime soon."_

_Silence._

"_At least," the voice continued, "Not until we want him to…"_

_SLAM! _

_Rushed footsteps. _

"_Sir!" a panicked voice shouted._

"_Yes?" the cold voice drawled in response._

"_We've decoded the enemy transmission," he huffed, between gasps._

"_And?" The cold voice dripped with annoyance._

"_We think…" he paused, swallowed hard, "Well, Sir," he stalled, "We think…"_

"_Spit it out!" the cold voice snapped._

"_Yes Sir!" the voice squeaked, "That is to say, we think… it's possible… it seems as though… well, Sir… we think… __**they know he's here**__."_

_

* * *

_

Unconsciousness pulled away from Peeta like flower petals opening slowly to the sun. With each passing moment, the darkness lost its hold and the weights on his chest lifted one by one. And so it was that, with a surge of energy, Peeta forced the final weight off his eyes, scuffing off the last remnants of unconsciousness with a soft grunt.

His vision cleared slowly, fogginess giving way to dizziness and gradually settling on a bright blurriness that slowly came into focus.

Beep.

Beep.

Peeta focused on the sound, anchoring his consciousness to its regular rhythm. He inhaled a long, slow breath – wary of the horrible pains that had accompanied his first deep breath – and then exhaled in a sigh. _No pain_, he thought groggily.

"Welcome back, Peeta."

Peeta jerked. "AH!" he shouted as new pains laced his body. The beeps sped to a rapid crescendo.

"Now, now, Peeta," the feminine voice crooned, "Calm down. We can't have you over-exerting yourself and breaking your stitches."

Peeta's breaths came and went in a panicked rush.

"Shh," the Doctor laid a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down or I'll have to sedate you again," she murmured.

The feel of her hand on his skin centered him. It wasn't a comforting touch – in fact it turned his stomach – but it reminded him where he was, what he'd been through, what he could still endure…

By sheer force of will he'd survived this long. He still had enough will left. He would not submit.

Beep.

Beep.

The regular rhythm resumed. Peeta breathed steadily. He felt her looming over his shoulder, her hand still on his skin, her hair dangling inches from his face, her eyes scanning his face and roaming over his chest. He did not meet her gaze.

"That's my boy," she crooned. Her hand brushed a stray hair from Peeta's face. She raked her fingers through his hair with an air of ownership that made Peeta's skin crawl. Peeta locked his jaw, knowing his strength would only hold out as long as his will, but the Doctor wasn't interested in getting him to talk. She twirled her fingers in his hair idly, sighing wistfully.

"Oh Peeta," she sighed, "How _foolish_ I've been! How reckless!" Her soft voice broke with emotion. She stroked Peeta's cheek with a soft – cold – hand. Peeta flinched.

"Oh," she cooed, "And to think, I almost lost you!" Her voice was heavy with sadness, so compelling in her anguish that Peeta almost – _almost – _felt sorry for her. Almost.

And then he remembered the scars covering his flesh. His eye. His –

Her hand trailed a cool line down his jaw, raised goosebumps on his throat, and sent shivers down his spine. Her icy touch felt like a branding iron along his collarbone. Peeta's breathing sped, the heart monitor beeping wildly.

Unreasonable embarrassment washed through him as his eyes darted to her face and found her putrid purple-red lips curling up in a self-satisfied smirk.

Peeta growled in annoyance. _Relax!_ he commanded himself, and his eyes returned to the Doctor's hand as it traced its way down his chest and hovered above the gauze over his heart, her long pointed nails dangling dangerously, fingers twitching in anticipation. Peeta swallowed hard, and closed his eyes – waiting for the pain.

Beep.

Beep.

Peeta's heartbeats filled the silence.

"Such a strong heart," she crooned, laying her hand – softly – over Peeta's heart.

Peeta froze. It was a benign statement, but her tone hinted at something more. _Oh God,_ he thought suddenly, _they couldn't have…_ Peeta's heart raced.

The Doctor chuckled subtly. "Oh no, Peeta," she chided, "it's not what you think." She chuckled again. "It's your heart… I just made some… _improvements."_ Her voice curled around the word seductively.

The beeping sped up.

"Now, Peeta," the Doctor chided, "You don't want to burst your stitches do you?"

Peeta swallowed down the fear that was making his heart race. _Improvements?_ he thought. He tried to speak – choked, and then tried again: "Improvements?" His voice broke on the word.

She smiled, caressing his skin. "Stronger, tougher…" she murmured. His skin burned where her fingers pressed into his flesh. Peeta grit his teeth, willing his rising panic – and his heartbeats – to slow and settle.

Beep.

Beep.

The steady drumming of his heart mocked him. What was he? _A muttation?_ What had they done? What had they made of him?

His rage broke and he lunged up – pulling against the restraints holding him down.

"What did you do to me!" he screamed, the force of his lunge pushing the doctor from his chest and knocking her to the floor. He rattled his arms in the wrist cuffs, struggling to free himself before the pain knocked back into unconsciousness. The heart monitor beeped frantically and, suddenly, a strong hand pushed him back onto the table.

"Peeta!" the Doctor commanded, her hands forcing his shoulder and head back on the table, despite his furious struggles. "Stop!"

His struggles slowed as fatigue caught up with him, and he groaned, "What did you do to me?" His eyes felt heavy, but he fought against the crushing urge.

Her grip relaxed and she wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. "Oh Peeta," she cooed.

She paused, her silence filling the room like a physical presence.

"I asked him, you know, President Snow…" she began, her voice contemplative. "Begged him, really."

Peeta froze, captivated by her words. _What is she talking about?_

She stroked his cheek. "He's really put out with you," she chided.

Her eyes roamed the distance, fixated on something Peeta couldn't see.

"It wouldn't be hard, really. Especially with your…_ improved_ heart. I mean," she whispered, "He could still have his broadcasted execution…"

She giggled, her attention returning to Peeta. "You've died at my hands so many times, Peeta," she giggled, "it would be so easy! How many times have I brought you back before?" she laughed but then, her voice grew serious. "Oh, what _will_ I do without you?" she whispered, her voice breaking in sadness.

A wistful look graced her features. "Just think of it! Think of what COULD be!" her voice rising, her smile warming her tone, "After that horrid _Katniss_ is dead, and you, well, Panem can watch you die too – they wouldn't know the difference! And once everyone thinks you're dead…well, then…" she smiled, relishing her plan.

"Oh WHY won't he let me _keep you?_" she whined suddenly, her intensity taking Peeta by surprise.

She brought her lips to Peeta's cheek. "Just think of it, Peeta: a lifetime _here_… with _me_..." She smiled and kissed his cheek as Peeta absorbed her words. "My nails cutting into your skin," she murmured seductively, "_my _whip scarring your back, _my _fingers wrapping around your throat…"

Peeta's skin crawled and a sickening shiver ran down his spine, shaking his body with spasms of pure, unmitigated terror. His heart raced, sending the heart monitor screaming.

Her fingers tightened on him, pinning him down. It was her touch on his skin that set him off. Suddenly his rage was all encompassing and he was thrashing against his restraints, shouts and curses falling from his lips as all of his pain and fear and rage and horror erupted into a violence that could not be contained. There was no longer the horrible pains in his chest. There were no stitches ripping free of his skin. No unbreakable restraints. No hard table under his back, nor doctor at his side.

Only rage. Only hate. Only fear and loathing and disgust and horror and _dear GOD GET ME OUT OF HERE!_

A sharp pain lanced into his neck, and more strong arms arrived – holding him down. But still he fought and screamed and struggled.

And as the darkness closed around him, Peeta heard the Doctor's words echoing through his mind… _keep you… keep you… a lifetime here… keep you… with me…_

_

* * *

_

"Peeta?"

"Pssst. Peeta!"

Whispered voices filtered through the silence.

There was something familiar about those voices. But they were so soft and so distant and Peeta was so tired and groggy and dizzy and…

"Peeta!"

Louder now.

They were closer. Clearer.

Peeta could almost make out the voices… a girl?

She had such a familiar voice. Peeta was sure he'd heard it before. He just couldn't think of when… or how… or who…

"Finnick! He's here!"

_Finnick?_ Peeta thought. _Strange name. Familiar though. And oh, what a pretty voice._ The girl's voice swam through his mind, warming him somehow. _If sunshine and meadows had a voice, it would be hers_, he thought wildly.

"Dear Lord! Is he alive?" a male's voice whispered nearby.

Peeta couldn't hear the telltale beeping of the heart monitor to prove he was alive, but he was sure it was somewhere blinking and beeping.

Peeta felt hands on his face and neck. Soft. Warm.

"Yes." the girl whispered back. Peeta thought he heard gushing relief in that one tiny word.

"Peeta?" she whispered, her lips brushing slightly against his ear.

_Yes!_ he wanted to shout. Her voice was so beautiful. _Wake up, Peeta! _ he shouted at himself. _Answer her!_ But no sound came.

"Peeta?" she whispered, "It's Katniss. Please wake up! We've come to take you home!" Her voice was strained, the weight of emotion cracking her whispered pleas.

_Katniss!_ Peeta thought. A wave of pure joy washed through him. _Yes! That voice. HER voice._

"Katniss," the man's voice murmured, "We've got to hurry. They only promised us two minutes for the distraction."

"I know!" she huffed. "Help me with these, then!" she scolded him. Peeta felt fingers unclasping the cuffs at his wrists and ankle, but still the weight of the sedatives in his system pinned him down.

_C'mon Peeta!_ he urged himself. _Fight. Fight for Katniss._ And with a sudden surge of adrenaline, he groaned. And opened his eyes.

"Peeta!" Katniss cried – joy coloring her tone. And then, concern, "Peeta? What happened – your eye…" her voice drifted, as if she thought better of finishing her question.

"Kat-niss…" Peeta muttered_,_ mustering his strength, and forcing his eyes to drink in the sight of her. Her grey eyes were pulsing with emotion, but steely in determination. _Typical Katniss_, he thought, smiling despite himself. She was paler than he'd imagined her, and thinner than he'd seen her recently, but she was whole and looked strong.

"Peeta," Finnick said, appearing over Katniss' shoulder. He smiled, a carefree expression that was simultaneously so typically Finnick and so completely out of place that Peeta almost laughed.

And then he remembered his nightmare: Katniss. In the Capitol. Executed.

"We've got to get out of here," Peeta said, his voice dropping under the weight of his fear.

"No arguments here," Finnick replied casually.

Finnick and Katniss grabbed Peeta's arms and lifted him down from the table. He was still without his prosthetic leg, so they slung each of his arms over their shoulders and the three hobbled toward the door of the hospital wing.

Katniss left Peeta slung over Finnick's shoulder as she poked her head out into the hall.

Peeta's breathing sped. He hadn't had much of chance to decide if this was another dream or not, but the pain in his body, the gauze over his heart, his… eye… Well if they were all real, this probably was too. _And well, if not…_ this was already the best hallucination he'd had so far.

Katniss turned back, motioned with her head, and waved them into the hall. Peeta was leaning too heavily on Finnick, he knew, but he was so weak, and already so tired… He looked up into Finnick's face. Finnick's usually carefree face was lined with determination and duty, but showed no signs of fatigue or strain. Peeta relaxed marginally – and then tried to force his beaten body to work harder.

They moved steadily through the corridors, rushing here, pausing there – following some pattern Peeta couldn't discern. A couple times a guard would pass nearby, but no one intercepted their path. They moved stealthily, only the huffing gasps of Peeta's labored breathing breaking the absolute silence. A few more turns, a few more long hallways, and suddenly, Peeta saw it: the hovercraft bay.

"Okay," Katniss whispered, "This is it. Just through this set of doors and down an access corridor to the docking bay. Ready?" she asked, eyeing Peeta's graying complexion and drooping eyelids with concern.

Peeta nodded and grunted in response, sweat dripping down his forehead and his heart pounding in his ears. Katniss gave him one long, hard stare before seeming to make a decision.

"Finnick," she ordered, "Go ahead and check the route." She reached into her belt and pulled out a small container of water. "Drink this," she ordered Peeta. "Peeta and I will follow you in one minute, Finnick. Go." Finnick stared at her a moment – no doubt judging if she had the strength to support Peeta's weight. But the fire in her eyes quelled him, and he followed her orders with a curt nod before disappearing through the doors.

She leaned him against the wall and Peeta drank greedily of the water. She pulled her dagger from its sheath, her eyes scanning the corridors for any unwelcome visitors. They were taking a chance, stopping like this, but it wouldn't be much of a rescue mission if Peeta died in the process.

Peeta was pretty sure he wasn't dreaming. He'd felt fear in dreams. Worry. Horror. Sadness. But not pain. Not like this. And Katniss. How many times had he dreamed her? But not like this. Not her smile. Not her _smell._ This was real.

And, in many ways – that scared Peeta even more.

"Okay." Peeta huffed, "Let's go." He didn't feel refreshed. He didn't feel stronger. But the mounting fear from every second that kept Katniss in mortal danger was more than he could bear.

She nodded fiercely and threw his arm over her shoulder.

She was strong. He had to give her that. But not strong enough for this. It only took a second to realize that Katniss wouldn't be able to hold her dagger in her hand AND support Peeta – she needed both arms to support Peeta and even that was stretch. Peeta didn't know how much good it would do, but he took the weapon in his free hand, and the two trudged on.

They got through the doors without trouble, but suddenly Peeta caught a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye. Spinning on instinct, he saw her.

And without a second thought – he lunged.

She'd seen Peeta slip through the doors and had followed him. She was backing slowly toward the communication consol on the wall when Peeta's dagger caught her between the ribs and their bodies crashed into the wall – only inches away from her destined target. He couldn't stand on his own, but his body was pressing into hers, his weight anchoring the cold metal dagger protruding from her diaphragm.

His rakish blue-brown gaze burned into her – the hateful force of his glare was staggering. Her breaths pumped in helpless gasps. She opened her mouth to scream, but suddenly his hand was there – pressing, holding, smothering.

Silencing her suffering as her body screamed and struggled for oxygen. Silencing her cries of pain as the blade cut and mangled muscles and organs. Silencing her calls for help. No one would come for her. Silencing her descent into darkness.

Peeta watched in disgust as her writhing body calmed beneath the heavy pressure of his hand over her mouth. His hatred and fear and disgust poured out of him as her blood poured in rolling torrents from her gaping wound. And as her body slid into a lifeless heap on the floor, Peeta felt his last remnants of strength slide out of him.

The room spun, and suddenly he was falling. But where the hard floor should have been, soft hands were holding him up.

"I've got you," Katniss whispered, her strong arms tightening around him as they lowered slowly to the floor. "Stay, stay with me," she murmured, her voice welling with emotion. "We've got to get you out of here."

"Go, Katniss," Peeta mumbled, fighting the unconsciousness that was threatening to claim him. "Go, go be safe. Leave me. Go!" he murmured as forcefully as he could.

"No!" she cried softly. "I won't leave you!" her voice strained against tears. "Now _get up_ and HELP me! You have to help me save you, Peeta!" her voice broke.

Peeta forced his eyes to focus on her face. Her grey eyes were drowned in tears, her pale face now red from exertion and crying, and her expression – oh how he loved that expression! – it was defiance and beauty and love and… "I'm sorry, Katniss," he whispered, his own tears blurring his vision. "I can't."

He paused, finally realizing the implications of this failure. "Please go," he cried. "Save yourself." He brought a hand to her tear-stained face, memorizing her every feature and the love that burned in those tear soaked eyes.

"And don't come back," he said firmly, steeling his voice. "Don't come back for me," he repeated, "you got that?" His voice was hard, but he had to make her see: he wouldn't be here for her to rescue.

He tightened his grip on the dagger, his mind briefly considering ways to _ensure_ the Capitol couldn't bring him back and how long it'd take him to do it after Katniss disappeared down the corridor.

"No!" Katniss' stubborn reply did not surprise him. But before he could argue further, a new voice carried down the hall.

"Katniss?" Finnick's voice called.

Katniss' face lit up, "Here! We're here! We need help!"

The last thing Peeta heard before he lost his battle with unconsciousness was the sound of running feet and Katniss' whispered promise, "Don't worry Peeta, we're taking you home."


	8. Epilogue

**Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! Here it is: the FINAL chapter! **

**Please Read, Review, and, by all means, ENJOY!**

**~TLD  
**

* * *

**Epilogue**

Peeta awoke slowly in the grey predawn to a soft whirring sound and shifting shadows on light curtains. The room was sparse, a bed, a table, a chair, and two small windows on the far wall, but Peeta sighed in contentment as he pulled the thin sheet higher up his chest and snuggled back down into the soft pillow. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes.

A heavy hand slapped down on his mouth, pressing and gagging him.

"Shhh," a deep voice mumbled.

Peeta's eyes flew open as he felt the cold metal edge of a blade on his throat.

His vision was blurry, but after a long moment of focusing and trying not to swallow, Peeta saw him. His eyes narrowed. _Gale?_

"Listen up, and listen good," Gale growled, low and intense. "I don't know what they did to you in there and I don't know how you're still alive, but I do know this – that rescue went WAY too smoothly."

Gale paused, letting his words sink in.

Peeta felt as though he'd been kicked in the chest. Gale's wild grey-eyed glare locked him in place.

For one wild second Peeta thought, _He's going to kill me_, suddenly knowing how a deer locked in Gale's sights would feel. But then, Gale's fiery eyes hardened and he tipped his chin in a curt nod, seeming to assure himself that Peeta wasn't going to fight him or call for help. He stood up, releasing Peeta's head and withdrawing the blade from his throat.

Peeta nodded back, coughing a bit and struggling to seat himself more comfortably on the bed. Brow furrowed, he turned to Gale.

"What do you think it means?" he asked grimly. If what Gale said was true, if the escape had been… too easy, did that mean…? But before his brain could spin through the possibilities, Gale spoke.

"I don't know," he rasped. His voice was rough with the strain of his anger and fear. He paused, clenching his jaw and trying to control the rage that was always bubbling near the surface. "I-" he started, but then bit back the words, his breath heaving out in a frustrated huff.

"All I know," he began again, the words rushing out, "is that guards were suddenly missing, transmissions easier to decode… It was like the Capitol _wanted_ us to find you. _Wanted_ us to get you out."

Peeta's breath caught in his chest and fear pulsed hard and strong in his mismatched eyes. He struggled with his breathing for a long moment before he could finally find his voice.

"You think I'm some kind of…" he struggled for the word, "weapon? A trap?" Peeta's eyes probed Gale's now, searching for the answer he knew must be hidden there. Gale stepped back, suddenly uneasy with Peeta's intensity, but Peeta grabbed his wrist.

"Gale," he insisted, "Tell me."

Gale looked at the crushing grip on his wrist and then back up at Peeta. He was amazed at the transformation before him. It wasn't just in his eyes or in Peeta's gaunt, scarred body. Peeta was different. No longer the soft, baker-boy, he had the look of a warrior, of a man who had died so many times in so many ways that something inside of him always remained dead. Hard and cold.

Gale nodded in recognition, and, squaring his gaze against Peeta's rakish glare, he said coldly, "I don't know if the rescue was luck or fate or some Capitol trick. But I do know this: if I get even the _slightest inkling_ that you are a danger to us, I swear I will kill you on the spot," he paused, his face contorted with rage.

"I don't care if you saved Katniss in the arena, if you become a threat to her now, I'll slit your throat. You understand?" Gale growled.

Peeta paused, releasing Gale's wrist in a slow, thoughtful motion. And then, sitting up, strong and tall, his eyes clear and determined, Peeta extended his hand to Gale. Gale's brow furrowed in confusion, but after a moment, he clasped Peeta's hand in his own, and the two shook, a gesture of accord as old as Time.

Peeta smirked grimly, and added, "I'll hold you to it."

* * *

It wasn't long before Gale was stalking out of the room. His eyes were still hard, but something about the set of his shoulders hinted at the strange new camaraderie between himself and Peeta.

Alone again, Peeta leaned back against the pillows. His mind ranged back on the last days at the Capitol, searching for any clues about his rescue and any signs that he might be housing some deadly threat to the rebellion – to Katniss – inside of him.

With tentative fingers, he peeled back the bandage over his heart wound, holding back the fear that imagined any number of horrible Capitol _muttations_ implanted in his chest. He held his breath, and peeled back the first corner.

"You'll want to leave that on," Katniss called from the doorway. Peeta gasped, jumping at the sound of her voice.

He spared her a wan smile, but furrowed his brow in concentration and he peeled back the bandage further, his skin protesting against the painful pull.

Katniss crossed the room in three large strides, but Peeta couldn't spare a glance at her now. He pulled again, finally exposing the wound. And saw…

Skin. Stitches.

No wires, no metal. Just his own skin.

Peeta let out a sigh of relief.

"What did you expect?" Katniss said wryly, her brow arched in a delicate attempt at humor.

Peeta tried to smile back, but was pretty sure his expression was closer to a grimace.

A long moment of silence passed between them as they simply stared unsure what to say next.

Finally, Peeta broke the silence. "Have they scanned me for a tracker or anything?" he asked, business-like.

Katniss' smile fell slightly, but she answered, "Yes. Haymitch insisted. So far, nothing," she paused, "But I think they're planning to do another sweep before we get much further."

Peeta nodded, "Good."

Silence crept back in, neither really knowing _what_ to say.

"Peeta," Katniss whispered suddenly, seeming to break under the strain of the silence. With a swift move, she was suddenly sitting on the bed beside Peeta. Peeta smiled at her closeness. "I'm so glad you're OK," she whispered, as if conveying a great secret.

Peeta smiled gently and took her hands in his. "Well, I don't know if I'd go _that_ far," he murmured, "but I'm alive." He brought a hand to her face, cupping her soft cheek like he'd dreamed of doing for so long.

"And I'm here with you," he murmured, rubbing small circles on her cheek with his thumb, "and we're _reasonably_ safe at the moment." He chuckled softly, but his smile didn't reach his eyes.

Suddenly serious, he turned her face so she would hold his gaze. His eyes were intent, his mouth set in a hard line. "Thank you," he said, his tone low and fervent. "Thank you for coming to get me." He held her face for a long moment, before she smiled brightly and closed the short distance between them, pressing her lips to his in an urgent, passionate kiss.

Her fingers were tangling in his hair and he was clinging to her, his hands outlining the sharp contours of her jaw, his lips pressed fiercely against hers. The taste and smell of her filled him, so much stronger than he'd remembered. It was like _Mint_, Peeta mused, _And wildflowers. _Her lips were warm, yielding. Her breath caught in her throat in a small moan and her lips parted slightly, granting him access. The flavor of her was like a shot of adrenaline straight into his system and his eyes rolled back into his head under closed eyelids, the overwhelming ecstasy of the moment nearly shattering him. Her breathing sped as he explored her mouth, and then her jaw and her throat, and between gasps, she whispered his name.

"Peeta," she whispered, and Peeta felt as though his heart would stop from the blissful shock of hearing his name from her lips.

He pulled away slightly, but only so he could whisper against her skin, "Katniss."

His breath trailed against her neck and he could feel Katniss tremble beneath his hands. He pulled back farther, needing to see her face. His hands cupped her face, and she smiled slightly, her eyes still closed. When she felt him move, she opened her eyes slowly, languidly, reluctantly.

But when she did, Peeta gasped. Her grey eyes pulsed with emotion, her gaze fierce and searching, and… hungry. Love and lust and desire and need and concern and raw hunger radiated from her shining gaze and struck Peeta like a physical blow.

She'd always been staggeringly beautiful to Peeta's eyes – strong and compelling and fierce in her deep, unwavering devotion. How many times had Peeta seen her look at Prim, her mother, Gale, with that look of complete and utter devotion? He'd watched as her regard for him had changed from reluctant obligation to camaraderie to compassion, but this? This was new.

"Peeta," Katniss began, her eyes beaming like beacons in her face. She reached her hands up to her face, trapping Peeta's, interlacing her fingers with his. She leaned into his palm, the pressure making her smile larger and her eyes warm. She paused, as if letting the words form themselves in her head.

"Peeta, I love you," she whispered fervently.

Peeta's heart nearly exploded in his chest. He'd waited his entire life to hear those words!

His returning smile was blinding. "Katniss," he began, excitedly, anxious to see her face light up when he returned those words to her.

But before he could utter the words he'd been dying – and nearly died – to say, he remembered his conversation with Gale. Was he still a threat to Katniss?

He couldn't know for sure.

His smile fell. He had a promise to keep. _I must keep Katniss safe._

Katniss' brow crumpled in concern. "Peeta? What's wrong?" she asked, her voice tentative.

Peeta gently extricated his hands from Katniss'. His mismatched eyes darkened with worry.

"Look at my eyes, Katniss," Peeta began, his voice low and dark. "They tortured me for… weeks," he swallowed, biting back a shiver, "but when… when that didn't work, they brought her in. They told me I could save her. If I could give them information, they'd spare Johanna's life," Peeta said in a rush, anxiety hitching his voice.

"I realized it then," he murmured, his eyes muddy, lost in his recollection. "They knew that I didn't know anything."

Suddenly, he locked his clear, rakish glare on Katniss' now wide, disturbed grey eyes.

"This," he said, indicating his eyes, "It was a game to them." His eyes dropped, and he swallowed hard, composing himself. "A sick game…" he mused, "with only one rule…" Those eyes found hers again, "…keep Peeta alive."

Peeta's head bowed, the tears welling uncontrollably in his eyes. His hands balled into fists, his whole body straining under the weight of his grief, of his rage, of his bone-crushing guilt. He struggled to keep his breathing in check, but the waves of panic and pain that raked through him threatened throw him over the edge.

But then, her hand was there. Softly but firmly, she grasped his shoulder. It was a slight touch, but to Peeta, it was a lifeline. The panic swirled around him, the pain crashed through him and washed onward, but he clung, focused only on that warm, solid pressure on his shoulder, and soon his breathing slowed and the racking ache in his chest eased.

He raised his eyes, blurry with pain, to the hand on his shoulder, following the sinewy line of Katniss' arm up the strong curve of her shoulder, resting ever so slightly on the supple curve of her neck and the soft pout of her lips, before finding her eyes.

Her grey eyes were unfocused, tears streaming silently down her cheeks, but still strong, as if she were determined to bear his pain, no matter how much it hurt her.

_Oh Katniss,_ Peeta thought sadly, _this is exactly what I'm trying to prevent. _Peeta scolded himself. _I WON'T let her be hurt any more because of me, _he vowed silently.

They sat in silence a moment, before Katniss' spoke softly. "And…" she paused, as if unsure whether she should continue, "what about…" Her hand traced softly down Peeta's shoulder before resting ever so softly against his heart. She couldn't bring herself to say the word, the thought of his wounded heart overwhelming her.

Peeta laid a hand over Katniss', "This…" he said gently, "I did this."

He was watching her eyes, so he saw her face jolt in shock and her eyes fly wide with hurt and surprise.

"You?" she cried, her voice hitching, "Peeta! You did this? Why?"

"Hush," Peeta murmured, soothing her, drawing Katniss into his arms. Her racing heart and breathing slowed slightly under his touch, but he could tell she was still troubled. He had to tell her.

"Katniss," he said, his voice heavy, "There's something you need to understand." He paused, steeling himself. "As long as I live, they will always use me to get to you."

"Peet-" Katniss began, but Peeta cut her off.

"Wait, Katniss, please hear me out," Peeta implored. "You know that I'd defend you to my last breath. Kill for you, bleed for you, die for you if it means keeping you safe," he said, matter of fact.

Katniss didn't interrupt. They both knew it was true.

"But," Peeta continued, his voice full of concern, "… I'm a point of vulnerability, Katniss. They guessed it before, guessed you'd come for me, and you did. You proved them right. As long as I live, you'll risk your life to save me." Peeta's eyes were brimming with unshed tears. "They'll use that against you."

He let out a shaky breath. "They may already have," he breathed in a deadened monotone.

Katniss' eyes darkened with confusion, "Peeta, what-" she began, but Peeta jumped in again.

"You have to let me go, Katniss," he whispered, his voice low, but fervent.

Katniss felt like her heart had stopped in her chest.

"I love you, Katniss," Peeta murmured. He bit back the tears that threatened to overflow. "I've always loved you, and I always, _always_ will." He paused, pained now by the look of joy that graced Katniss' features.

He steeled himself for what he knew he must say next. After all the years of wishing, after all the days in the arena, knowing he was going to die without Katniss' love, after all the torture and torment in the Capitol, the gut-wrenching agony that coursed through him now was unlike any pain he'd ever survived. He didn't think he could survive this.

"But you _can't_ love me, Katniss," Peeta whispered. A hollow feeling settled in his chest and Peeta knew another piece of him had died. "It's too dangerous," he explained. His voice became fierce, "and I won't let the Capitol hurt you through me."

Katniss stared, unable to think or speak. _No,_ she thought, _No! _Her brain couldn't wrap about Peeta's words. Hadn't she spent the last weeks dying a little every day that Peeta was gone? Hadn't she agonized, battled with her rational mind that told her that Peeta was gone, that she had to let him go, that love was a weakness, an indulgence she couldn't have? _But I was wrong!_ she thought. She'd learned it the hard way. Loving Peeta was like breath, she _couldn't live_ without it.

"Katniss," Peeta called, pulling her from her thoughts. He took her hands in his in a soothing gesture that made Katniss panic. "I was never a contender in these games," he whispered, echoing his own words from the roof before their first hunger games. He cocked a small, sad, half-smile.

_No,_ Katniss thought, rejecting his words. She remembered that night, remembered his words… _I just want to find someway to show them… I'm not just a pawn in their games._ He was right then. He'd taught her that there are things worth dying for – causes worth fighting for. But now?

"No," she said firmly. Her grey eyes burned hellfire. "No, Peeta," she repeated. Her voice was clear and even. "You're wrong. It's different now. Your death can't save me." Her voice grew louder, more intense. "I defied the Capitol. I defied 75 years of tradition. I faced death and punishment and the loss of my family and threw an entire nation into open rebellion…"

She paused, her voice softening, "…all so I could _keep you_."

Those grey eyes warmed and Peeta felt himself falling into their misty depths.

"If you think I'm going to let _you_ convince me to give you up," Katniss murmured, smiling, "you've lost your mind."

Peeta wanted to argue, to object, but he could find no words. He sat, open-mouthed and amazed, drinking in Katniss' words as if they were the breath of life.

Katniss grasped his hand tightly in hers, her expression fierce and determined. "No matter what, Peeta," she vowed, "we're in this together. We're coming through this. Together."

Her voice was so strong, so sure. Her eyes burned with power and love. And for the first time in longer than he could remember, Peeta felt the swelling of hope within him.

* * *

President Snow paced in his office, his cold hands gripped tightly behind his back, his fleshy lips pursed into a stiff, straight line. He'd been up for hours. Pacing. Waiting.

A sharp knock at his office door froze him mid-stride. He nodded to himself encouragingly as he ordered, "Enter."

A severe-looking Capitol Peacekeeper pushed the door open with forceful precision and stood in the threshold at attention. "Sir," the Peacekeeper acknowledged.

"Report," President Snow commanded, turning his back on the officer and gazing out his darkened window.

"The rebels have cleared the Capitol boundaries, Sir," the Peacekeeper replied.

President Snow gazed silently.

"And the prisoner?" President Snow drawled, his tone darkening.

"He is with them on board," the officer finished.

"And the Doctor?" President Snow asked.

The officer paused. "Dead, sir. It appears the boy killed her during the escape."

President Snow nodded to himself. The silence dragged on for a long moment, and the Peacekeeper wondered if he should excuse himself. But he'd been with the Capitol for many years. He knew he wasn't excused until the president dismissed him. He waited silently.

Finally, President Snow turned. "Very well," he began, business-like, "She served her purpose."

The Peacekeeper tried not to flinch at the President's casual dismissal of the Doctor.

"And the weapon?" Presiden Snow asked, his voice light, but his eyes flashing menacingly.

The Peacekeeper stood up straighter. "The weapon is ready and operational, Sir."

President Snow's red lips pulled up into a frightening smile. "Good," he smirked. "Ready the unit. Inform the Captain that I shall join him shortly. Dismissed."

"Yes Sir," the officer shouted, his salute jerking wildly in his haste to follow his orders.

As the door closed behind him, President Snow turned his smiling face back to his window. In the darkness over the Capitol, President Snow saw his own face reflected in the glass, lit as if from within by thousands of little lights. Lights from people's homes, from stores, streets, cars, hovercrafts.

His smile grew. _I __**am**__ Panem, _he thought, greedily.

_And all will be back in my grasp soon. Very, very soon..._


End file.
